"William R. Forstchen - Wing Commander 06 - Action Stations" - читать интересную книгу автора (Forstchen William R)

We shall use the classic maneuver of theHaggin ."

Laughter erupted at the reference to an old hunting trick, of sending a lone warrior out and letting him
feign injury to draw the prey in. The prey would then be so focused on theHaggin that they would not
notice that they in turn were being encircled.

"We will show weakness and confusion in the opening days, even pull back. Then will come the killing
blow."

Vakka turned and looked back at his own son, Jukaga, the same age as the ignorant whelp, Ratha.
Jukaga was eager for the fight, that was obvious by the pained, embarrassed expression in his eyes at his
father's display. Would Jukaga survive this war? He scanned the rest of the assembly. All visible support
was gone. Some were already looking towards the door into the feasting hall, the immediate needs of
their stomachs far more important than this last hope for turning the decision back.

As he gazed upon them he did see one clear truth. They needed war, perpetual war, for if they did not
have it the Empire would turn upon itself in bloody civil conflict, to satiate the need for combat, for glory,
for blood. If for no other reason than that, the Emperor, in his cunning, would demand an attack upon the
Confederation in order to insure his own place upon the throne.

So it would be theJak-tu , the war of surprise. It was, of course, the way, for only a fool would warn his
prey of intent. Picking up his dagger, he walked to the ceremonial circle in the center of the room. Raising
the blade high he closed his eyes, hesitating, a dark warning of fear rippling in his heart. But there was
now no other way, short of provoking a civil war, a breaking of the clansтАж he flung the blade so that it
stood quivering beside the knives of the other clan leaders and the golden blade of the Emperor. A roar
of approval erupted and Vakka looked back towards the dais. There was a rustling behind the curtains,
the Emperor was standingтАж a howling roar erupted from behind the screen, the first cry of the hunt,
joined an instant later by those assembled in the room, a mad ululation of abandon and joy, for the scent
of blood was in the air. Vakka could feel it overcoming him as well, the primal instinct of the pride, the
vast steppes filled with game, the hot sun overhead, the air thick with the smell of bloodтАж and now it
was the vastness of space, the cold silence, the swooping dive and the shudder of gunsтАж it was still the
same, the hunt. The spirit finally seized his soul even in its torment and, tilting his head back, the scream
erupted from him, mingling with those who were of the blood of Empire.



CONFEDERATIONSERVICEACADEMYтАФHOUSTON

"Admiral, hell of a good speech, the kids ate it up."

Admiral "Skip" Banbridge turned to see his old comrade, Commander Winston Turner, coming towards
him, hand extended and holding a drink. Banbridge smiled sarcastically as he accepted the heavy crystal
glass and took a long, grateful sip of well-aged single malt Scotch.

"Bullshit, Turner, same damn speech as last year, same damn speech as the year beforeтАж"

"And the same damn speech old Horatio gave us when we graduated thirty years ago," Turner
interjected with a smile.
 Banbridge looked around the reception room, filled to overflowing with Academy personnel, the
hundreds of freshly-minted ensigns and their gushing parents, along with a sprinkling of politicians,